Todos os capítulos de The CEO'S Dead Wife: A Marriage Made In Hell!: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

ABIGAIL'S POVI waited four days before I went to see Alexander.Not because I didn’t want to. Because I was afraid of what I would see.Prison had a way of shrinking people. I had seen it before, but knowing that didn’t soften the fear sitting in my chest as the car rolled through the final security gate. The metal doors slammed shut behind us with a sound that vibrated through my bones.“This won’t take long,” the officer said, already bored, already detached.I nodded but didn’t trust my voice.They led me into the visiting room and told me to sit. The plastic chair was cold even through my coat. I placed the food container on the table in front of me, adjusting it twice even though it was already straight. My hands wouldn’t stop moving.When the door on the other side opened, I stood without realizing I was doing it.Alexander walked in between two officers.For a second, my brain refused to process what I was seeing.His shoulders were slumped. His hair had gone unevenly gray at

ABIGAIL'S POV.I lay there staring at the ceiling, my body was aching, my mind foggy, trying to understand what had just happened.The pain was still there, dull and aching, but it felt far away now. Like it belonged to someone else. My arms were empty, my chest sore, my head spinning. This was an experience that no one will ever prepare you for. Richardson stood a few steps away from the bed, holding the baby like he was afraid the world might snatch him away if he blinked. His face looked different. Softer. Almost… admitted.He smiled down at the baby, his lips trembling slightly. “Tristan,” he said quietly.The name cut through my haze.“What?” I croaked.He looked up at me, eyes bright. “His name is Tristan.”I opened my mouth immediately. “Richardson, you can’t just..”But the words died in my throat. Because that was the name I had in mind to name my son.The same name I had whispered to myself in the dark nights when I thought I might lose this baby. The same name I had writte

RICHARDSON'S POV.I felt like the worse human being on earth.I kept my eyes on the road, but my phone buzzing beside me felt louder than the engine.I didn’t need to look at the screen to know it was Abigail. I just didn't have the strength to face her at this moment. I mean, what do I want to tell a mother about her missing child? How do I make her understand that I did this just for the safety of her son? There was no way on earth I'd bring myself to tell her that right now.My jaw tightened as I gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles whitening. The city lights blurred past the windshield as I took the longer route, the one with fewer cameras, fewer predictable turns. Every instinct in me screamed to answer her, to hear her voice, to explain but instinct was exactly what had brought us here.I glanced into the rearview mirror.Tristan was asleep in the backseat, strapped into the car seat I had stolen from the maternity ward storage because I didn’t trust anything else. His ch

MARCUS'S POVI sat in the sitting room chewing on a dry biscuit that had already lost its taste, my eyes fixed on the television even though my jaw was tight with irritation. The news anchor’s voice was smooth, rehearsed, annoyingly calm as she spoke about Abigail.“Sources close to the family describe the incident as an unstable postpartum episode,” she said. “There are concerns about the child’s safety..”I clenched my teeth and bit down harder on the biscuit.Unstable.That word again. They were always good at picking words that softened things just enough to sound reasonable. I had seen it done a hundred times. My fingers curled around the remote.At this point, I was angry with myself.Angry that I did not just kill her the same way I killed her mother.The thought came uninvited, heavy and bitter, and it stayed there. I had argued for restraint back then. I had said letting her live would make things cleaner. Easier. Less noise. Now look at the mess.I threw the remote across t

ABIGAIL'S POVThe first instinct was to scream.To stand in front of every camera that would listen and say Richardson’s name out loud. To tell the world that my son was taken from my arms by the man who swore he would protect him. So I did the hardest thing I had done since Tristan was born.I stayed silent.The media kept circling like vultures. Headlines still talked about my “postpartum instability,” about how grief had finally broken me. They replayed the footage of me screaming in the hospital hallway like it was proof of something rotten inside me.I let them.Fiona brought the statement to me that evening.“Just read it,” she said gently. “You don’t have to mean it.”I read it anyway.Abigail Greene has chosen to step back from public life to focus on her health and recovery. She asks for privacy during this deeply personal time.I signed it without changing a word.The moment the pen left the paper, something inside me went cold.Behind closed doors, the work started.Avion